Lately, I’ve felt like The Little Red Hen.

Remember that story? The hen kept trying to get help to make her bread, but no one would lend a hand to plant or harvest or grind the wheat — until the loaf was ready to eat.

I’m not harvesting and grinding my own wheat.

I am, however, feeding my sourdough starter and making loaves of artisan bread that my family is more than happy to eat.

But they tease me relentlessly about my hobby, and shook their heads when I bought some sourdough tools, including a banneton basket and lame knife for scoring patterns in the dough.

Fortunately, I’m immune to their good-natured jokes and it hasn’t deterred me from baking up tasty loaves of sourdough bread.

I go through phases like this every once in awhile. The cooler months are my favorite for baking — once summer hits, I rarely use the oven to avoid heating up the house.

Plus, what’s better comfort food on a cold winter day than homemade soup and bread, or pasta with extra sauce for dipping crusty slices of sourdough?

I feel a sense of accomplishment that I can make such a soul-warming food out of simple ingredients — sourdough starter, flour, water and salt. That’s it. I also love how sourdough starters often have an origin story. I got mine from Ginger Rembold, who got her starter from a U.S. Army colonel in the 1970s.

That’s quite a tradition to follow, so I will continue to ignore the hecklers in my house and keep making sourdough bread.

Until summer arrives, anyway.

Fortunately, others in Baker City make bread through the hot months, so I can pick up a fresh loaf at the farmers market until the cooler days return.